Flash Fiction

Looking long at her reflection in the mirror she was trying to see what he saw. She saw an older woman, lined with years. She saw the slowly greying hair, that she tidied away in a ponytail.

Yet he had come up to her and rather boldly asked. 'I am an artist, I would like you to model for me, come tomorrow at eleven.' He handed her a card with an address on. Smiled and walked away. Her friend sputtered her coffee but smiled broadly and spent the next some minutes suggesting reasons to go and to not go. When she awoke early the following morning her mind had made its decision.

Having thoroughly examined herself in the mirror she dresses in the same manner as yesterday, before suddenly worrying about having to undress. No, she has made her mind up she is going.

She knocks on the door at the address on the card. He opens it. He is generally bigger, and older than she remembers. 'Welcome, come this way.' She follows him into an almost empty room. He points her to an upright red chair. She takes her coat off and sits in the chair. He stands still, staring at her, seemingly soaking her in. After, she is not sure how long, he moves to the canvas and starts to paint. When the light in the room begins to fade, he puts the brushes aside. He shows her to the door. At the door he says. 'Come again, at the same time tomorrow.' And she does. And she does.